


In thrall to you

by Vaelentine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Growing Up, M/M, Prince Castiel, Slave Dean, sex is implied, timestamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaelentine/pseuds/Vaelentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Castiel is ten when he’s given his bed slave.<br/>He has no idea just what he will grow to become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In thrall to you

**Author's Note:**

> A light little timestampy thing. A lot of things are more implied than expressly stated. Let me know how I did-I thrive on kudos and comments!

Prince Castiel is ten when he’s given his bed slave.

Twelve is the usual age, a fact that his brother Balthazar whines incessantly over, having only just received his own. But the political climate of their little forested kingdom was heating up, and it was felt that a little extra protection for the King’s five children was in order. 

The boy is exotic-tan with sun kissed brown hair where most of the population is fair skinned and dark haired. He scowls when Castiel shyly asks about his freckles, but isn’t sore when he loses at checkers and giggles late into the night with him-under the covers, a small pudgy finger running circles beneath his new slave bracelets absently. 

His name is Dean.

-.-

Castiel is fourteen when the pressure comes to a head and Gabriel is taken. 

The servants find his bed empty, his bed slave lying in a pool of his own blood from where his throat was cut. They hadn’t been quick enough to keep Castiel from seeing the way his eyes stared blankly at the open window, and Castiel wraps himself tightly around Dean in their bed for weeks after. 

Dean quietly strokes his back during these times, whispering that even though he was younger, he was much better at combat training than the other boy was. Reassures Castiel that he won’t let anything happen to him, breathes that he won’t leave him when that just makes his grip tighten. Dean’s training intensifies after that, and he’s not able to accompany Castiel to his other lessons as often. 

Dean starts sleeping with a knife easily accessible from his side of the bed-practices rolling out and drawing it from multiple positions until he can do it with a fluid grace that send shivers down Castiel’s spine. 

-.-

Castiel is eighteen the first time Dean touches him. 

Dean is waiting in his room at the end of his natal day feast, nervously fiddling with his wrist cuffs. He grins at Castiel’s confusion and presses their lips together. Castiel is hesitant at first, unsure if Dean really wants this-until Dean whispers that not all the extra training he had requested had been in _fighting_ technique and didn’t Cas know what bed slaves were used for in most parts of the world? Groans around the admission that he’d been waiting impatiently since he’d come of age himself two years prior to have this. 

Castiel starts wearing decidedly less clothing to bed after that. 

-.-

Castiel is twenty when political unrest breaks into all-out war. 

Battle quickly and almost quietly claims the lives of his father and eldest remaining brother. Castiel is given no time to mourn. Dean brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks and rubs his temples where the crown has chafed them after the hasty coronation. He’s present at every meeting-a fact that Castiel’s advisers eventually come to accept, made easier by the fact that he does little more than silently stand at Castiel’s elbow. They discuss the developments in private of course, Dean absolutely refusing to speak up at the events themselves despite coming up with a few of the rather brilliant solutions they eventually employ. He cites the fact that the stodgy old men that made up the cabinet would never listen to a slave-might dismiss anything he said out of hand simply because he was one. 

It’s destined to be one of the lesser fights Castiel will concede to him. 

-.-

Castiel is twenty four when Dean falls on the battlefield. 

Dean had campaigned long and hard to be able to stand at Castiel’s side during battle. Castiel had adamantly refused, shutting down any and all lines of discussion when the topic was brought up, but Dean was persistent-he was one of the best fighters the kingdom employed, and was certainly the very best of King Castiel’s personal guard. Castiel is overruled and sulks in bed at night, turning his back to Dean for the first time in years. Dean just curls himself around him, breathing steadily in his ear and goes to sleep as though nothing is amiss. 

Dean’s grunt as the sword enters his side is quiet. Castiel might have missed it if it had been anyone else. Dean’s opponent is occupied attempting to remove his steel from Dean’s body as Castiel aims a blow at his neck. He doesn’t even wait to see if it connected before dropping to the ground and gathering Dean in his arms. 

Later, people will tell Castiel they had to search for the enemy King’s head for an hour to confirm his identity. The war is won, but Castiel has eyes only for the growing red stain spreading out from where he’s pressed his fingers. 

-.-

Castiel is a few days shy of twenty five when he trades Dean’s wrist bands in for a much smaller shackle, though Dean jokes that it’s no less heavy. 

Dean fidgets with his gold ring all through the ceremony. 


End file.
